


My Bones Are Calling Out Your Name

by skyline



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the dark years come, Miles looks at Bass and says, “One day, we’re going to rule the world.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Bones Are Calling Out Your Name

The story goes like this:

There are these kids, right? Boys. Two of them, and they’re friends. Best friends. They live in the suburbs skirting Chicago, boxed in by picket fences and big, big dreams.

They spend their days soaked in sunlight, catching each other between the crosshairs of toy guns. Puberty molds them brawny and strong, golden things whose boot steps shake the surface of the Earth.

Before the dark years come, Miles looks at Bass and says, “One day, we’re going to rule the world.”

* * *

 

They say it was worse, before the Militia. That you could earn a bullet to the brain for looking at somebody cross-eyed.

Food was scarce and safety was nonexistent, right up until the soldiers marched in. They wore raven-black and storm clouds, and they rained down fire on the ne’er-do-wells plaguing the land.

Except.

No one knows how it could have been worse. Bass Monroe is bat-shit crazy. He’ll shoot a man on sight for blinking wrong, and the glee he takes in the act of killing chills grown men right to the bone.

Miles Matheson always stand mutely at his side, lips pressed in a thin line and finger coked on the trigger, ready to do Bass’s bidding. He’s a guard dog or an accomplice. It doesn’t really matter which.

They say it was worse, before the Militia, but people tell a lot of stories that aren’t true.

* * *

 

The night Miles tries to execute Bass, the gun does not tremble in his hand.

They were lovers once. They were lovers this morning, when the sun-soaked fields of Philadelphia splayed wide through the thin crack that separated the flaps of their tent. Miles’s skin was soaked with sweat as he buried himself deep inside Bass, and Bass choked – practically _sobbed_ – his name.

And now they’re here, and the ballad of Miles and Bass is changed.

Miles can hear it now:

There are these men, right? Twisted by time and forged in iron and blood. They fell apart on a battlefield, except the battlefield was earth, and all the evil it holds, and the seeds it can plant in the heart of someone you thought you knew.

He levels the gun right at Bass’s heart. His eyes are too blue, blinking back love and history and heartbreak and pain.

The madman that saved nobody, and Miles, his failed knight; this is the story of how they end.

“The world is ours,” Bass tells him, across the barrel of a gun. “What do we do now?”


End file.
